Delving Deeper
by TheWinterCountess
Summary: Life after Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

All rights to House of Anubis and its characters goes to Nick . . . Blah blah blah . . . Legal stuff . . . Blah blah blah . . . I make no money from this . . . Blah blah blah. Now that that's out of the way: enjoy the story. And HURRAH- it will be multi-chapter! :)

The swelling morning sun crept over the treetops and spilled like shining milk into the windows of the Anubis house kitchen. From the stove a tea kettle violently screeched under the heated pressure of the steaming breakfast tea brewing inside, sending out herbal wafts to engulf both kitchen and dining room in a field of robust aroma.

Answering the call of the crying kettle, Vera, robe-clad, padded into the kitchen and moved the whining

metal to a cool resting place for it to settle to a simmering wane.

Pouring some of the torrid tisane into a floral mug, she drifted back into the dining room with slippered feet whispering over the floor boards.

Just as Vera had comfortably situated herself on one of the chairs, footsteps from the adjoining room signaled Victor's approaching entrance.

"Morning, Vera," he said as he walked through the archway and towards the kitchen.

"Morning," she answered with a yawn, "There's tea on the stove."

After pouring himself a cup of tea and a slight demitasse of black coffee, Victor, clean-shaven and properly dressed, sat across the table from where Vera had chosen.

They both sipped their brew in silence as the day steadily grew more vibrant.

It was thirty minutes of composed tranquility before either of them had finished sipping their tea. While Vera collected their empty dishes, Victor left to fetch the post from the front of the house.

Vera had set the mugs and saucers in the sink and returned to the dining room when Victor reentered the room, nonchalantly placing assorted letters on the dresser as he sat down to read the current day's morning newspaper.

"Stamps are up five pence," Victor commented unconsciously as Vera merely sighed and sorted through the miscellaneous, unsystematically piled letters.

Most were for Victor from utility corporations and a lawn service, him being the caretaker of the premises, but one letter in particular stood out from the remaining bland missives.

This letter had antique silver lettering and a blue wax seal with a rearing horse head as the equidistant crest. Its casing envelope was already yellowing, as if from age, yet softly emitted the unsullied fragrance of fresh lavender.

Dropping the irrelevant letters back onto the dresser head, Vera pulled out the plush chair of a nearby desk and quickly sat down, pulling a newly sharpened letter opener from its resting place in a chalice on the top right edge of the desk.

With a new-found vigor, quite contrary to the morning lull of the early day, Vera fastidiously sliced the top crease of the letter, pulling out its innards with special care, as if the contents were already preciously dear.

The paper had a parchment-like feel and was the color of eggshell. As she unfolded the creases to open the letter and bare the message, it made a soft crinkling rustle, soothing to the ears.

_Dearest Vera,_

_We had heard of your latest affair for the man that shall not be mentioned and now have heard _

_of your consistent occupational vacancy. This being said, we are concerned that you now may be in a _

_state of emotional distress because of the aforementioned impasse. We insist that you come to visit for a _

_while until you can strategize a superlative, beneficial disposition for your future. _

_We have included a ticket for your journey, if you do decide to come. The times and arrivals are on the _

_reverse side of this paper. Be warned, though, if you do not send notice of your decision after three days' _

_time, we shall send out riders to retrieve an answer._

_Ever Yours,_

_G & M_

_(PS: Pack for mild weather, if you take our counsel. -M)_

Vera, who had suddenly stood at the sighting of the letter's signature names, once again sat down, just as quickly as she had risen.

She slumped uncharacteristically in the chair as she reread the letter again and again, checking the dates and times, which had been dated two days previous, with dismay.

Victor, noticing this obvious deviation from her normal character and demeanor, put down his Red-Top and rose to stand by Vera.

Without uttering a single phrase, Vera handed the letter to a humbly soundless Victor, who took the letter with piqued attentiveness.

Victor read the letter as many times as she had, though with much less comprehension of its meaning than Vera.

Through the jumbled labyrinth that was coiling heated questions inside his mind, Victor finally managed, "How ambiguous. Who is this _G_ and _M_?"

"They are my remaining siblings, George, named after our father; and Marie, named after our maternal grandmother," Vera answered steadily, recalling her senses again.

"And how did they know where you were?" he asked next with the same inquisition.

"I suppose they found me in the same way that I found you, Victor," she answered with a titter.

Although not completely satisfied with her response, Victor sighed, and probed no further- for the time being.

In the next hour, Victor succeeded in mailing off executive utility bills and, seeing as how Vera had made breakfast, created a brunch of date-and-fig-filled rusks.

"So," he voiced tenderly, setting down the aged, oaken salver, "have you decided what you are going to do, concerning the letter?"

Vera, who had laid her head on the desk in dizzying frustration, slowly sat up and made her way over to where Victor had set down the biscuits on the dining table.

Picking up one of the flaky, fruit-filled crusts, she sat down next to Victor, who had once again taken to re-reading the letter.

Nodding her head in the affirmative manner in response to his question, Vera took a bite of the pastry and stared curiously out of the dining room window.

She took a draft of an anise-infused peppermint decoction and said, "I've decided to journey this trip."

"Splendid," Victor said, pleased at finally receiving an answer, "And where exactly are you journeying to?"

"_We_," Vera returned, "are leaving for Wiltshire country."

"Wiltshire," Victor said absentmindedly, continuing to blunder on, "that's quite the beautiful place this time of year. I hear that they have a wonderfully abundant supply of- . . ."

Victor suddenly stopped, turned to face Vera, and said, "Wait- we?"

"Yes, Victor: We," Vera nonchalantly answered as she swept out of the room and up the staircase.

Victor, stunned into a halt at first, quickly caught up and followed her into their suite off of his office, where their personal belongings were currently being stored.

Vera had already grabbed a change of clothes and was in the process of switching into an outfit much more appropriate than the pajamas she was wearing when Victor entered.

"Victor," she said through the sheer changing screen, "would you mind pulling down the luggage bags from the closet?"

"Of course I will," he exasperatedly replied to her hurried yet still endearing silhouette shadow.

Victor walked to the closet and pulled down the bags, quietly mumbling, "What am I getting myself into?"

A/N:

Poor Victor. He is so whipped.

Haha. ^-^

And there's chapter one! I will _try_ to keep up steady updates. This story, if all goes well, should be pretty lengthy. :)

This isn't my first multi-chapter fanfic, but it will be for HOA, so be gentle and please feel free to leave a review. Actually feel free to leave lengthy reviews on your thoughts of my writing style, too, if you want. I'm going to need all the tips I can get for when I get to MSA. Feedback is a writer's oxygen, so no pressure, but please don't kill me. ;)

Mwuah and thanks beforehand for your beautiful reviews,

~Allison Summer~


	2. Chapter 2

"The weather seems nice," Victor said half-heartedly, attempting to spark some kind of conversation as their train rumbled over English country-side.

Vera looked outside of the train window, staring as light rain was painting the sky a blurry gray and the window a portrait of a weak waterfall that was streaming downward until it fell off the edge and was left forgotten, as the train whirred on relentlessly. The whole sight was dismal and could hardly be described as nice.

"Mmhmm," she replied, cocking a sardonic eyebrow and returning her gaze back inside the compartment.

"Well, in a bitter, poetic way," he supplied as she rummaged inside her carry-on for a book to immerse herself in.

Finally finding a suitable choice, Vera situated herself more comfortably in her seat: knees pulled snuggly to her chest and head rested languidly on the window to her left.

"Ever the doomed poet, you are not, Victor," she finally said from over the top of her book, "What is it that you're so tactlessly dancing around?"

Dissolving his previous plans and taking a heaping, courageous breath, he said, "What's your family like, Vera?"

Vera, startled by such a direct question, sat unmoving and immobile in her seat across from Victor before taking a deep breath.

"My family," Vera said hesitantly, "is . . . peculiar."

When she said nothing more and the compartment was brimming with a thick, uncomfortable silence, Victor, expecting more than what was stated, said, "Well, care to elaborate on that vague statement, Vera?"

Carefully putting her novel aside, Vera said, "They're different, is all."

Victor sighed deeply, exasperatedly motioning his hands in a movement that meant for her to continue.

"Alright, alright, Victor," Vera finally ceded, imitating Victor's petulant sigh, "I'll tell you about my family."

"I should probably start this conversation by saying that both my parents are deceased, as are any other relatives besides George and Marie."

She paused, nonchalantly taking a sip of water from her bottle of Fiji Water, before continuing.

"George and Marie are my brother and sister, respectively, as you certainly know."

Victor nodded his head in sure affirmation, and asked, "What were their names?"

"What?"

"Your parents. What were their names? What did they do before they . . . passed?"

Vera, melancholy, looked down into her lap for the slightest moment before returning her gaze back at Victor and continued in her usual tone, "We, my siblings and I, grew up in Wiltshire together until I left for London when I turned eighteen. After that, the house sat empty until last year."

Victor, miffed at his questions being so blatantly disregarded, sat in silence again as Vera returned to reading her book.

The train, as ever it would, drifted on throughout the country as the rain waned to an eventual conclusion, and it wasn't until they were nearing their destination station that Victor, who had been thinking back on all of his conversations with Vera, had finally devised another set of questions to ask.

Victor, though hesitantly, voiced, "Vera, I was thinking about our conversation from earlier today, when you first told me of George and Marie; you said something rather strange."

Vera, once again, raised her eyes from over her book.

"Hm?"

"You said that the letter was from your _remaining_ siblings."

A sudden, brash voice from the overhead speakers on the train announced their arrival into the station. At this trigger, Vera hastily shoved her things back into her carry-on bag and promptly sat back down to wait until the train had made its complete stop and they were allowed to depart.

"There were four of us," she finally said, tiring of the stifling, uncomfortable silence.

"Four?"

"Yes," she affirmed, "George was the first born, with Marie being born a year later. Three years after Marie was born, my sister, Christine, named after our paternal grandmother, was born. I was born a year after Christine."

"I've always liked that name- Christine," Victor commented softly.

"Me, too," Vera smiled, "It reminds me of 'The Phantom of the Opera', which was very appropriate; Our Christine had a beautiful voice."

"From the way you talk about her, you two seemed to be very close," he said.

"Oh, yes," said Vera with a smile, "Naturally, my older siblings got along much easier with each other, and Christine and I got along much easier than with George and Marie. We spent most of our childhood with each other, right up until the point when she turned eighteen and left to pursue her life goals at Brown. She liked to write and compose, but she still always found time to write me."

The train finally came to a complete halt, and slowly, compartment by compartment, sparse groups of train-goers were spilling out into the station and onto the street. Following the lead of the others, they wound their way around all of the safety obstacles and eventually managed to step out of the station and outside to bask in the late afternoon sun that was now peeking out of a thin dispersion of gray rain clouds.

Victor followed in Vera's lead as she walked in the direction of a black town car that was parked- waiting on the curb.

A man in a tailored, navy blue uniform stepped out of the car and, before they had the chance, opened the door for them, closing it as they seated themselves inside on the shiny, black leather seats.

"Thank you, Neeson," Vera said lightly, situating her purse on her lap as the car backed out of its parking stance and swung forward into the slight traffic.

They swerved in and out between cars in silence, the day growing brighter and the landscape growing more and more suburban.

They pulled into the gates of a community that was decorated with rolling, lush hills of soft green. There were neat sidewalks and impressive, black scroll fencing in front of every house. The farther they delved into the community, the farther apart the houses were, each increasing in grandeur as they went by. They kept driving until houses were miles apart from each other and could hardly be seen from their view on the street, set so far back on the property, they were.

Just when it seemed that they could go no further and that they were doomed to be consumed by hill and tree, the town car pulled left into the last drive-way in sight. The sound of gravel crunched melodiously under the tires of the car, mixing with the rustling of the tall, shapely trimmed trees that lined the drive-way of the estate, which was altogether stretched out half a mile and ended in a loop.

The black car stopped at the ornate, stone steps leading up to the striking entrance of the manor that stood defiantly in all of its antique glory against the backdrop of the blazing sun. Vera collected her things as Victor, deciding to not wait for this 'Neeson', opened the car door for them, slamming the door closed- the sound slicing through the peaceful midday like a steak knife in a kosher cut.

Vera covered her eyes as she ascended with Victor to the front door, Neeson speeding off to park the town car in the car garage. Vera's heels clicked vociferously against the stone steps as they reached the peak of the stairs, drifting into the shade of the wooden beams that were cross-stitched to assist in supporting the dense stone-front of the house.

As Vera was about to search through her bag for her house keys, Victor calmly stilled her hand, causing her to look up.

"Before we go in," he began, "Is there anyone else that I should be aware of? Other people like 'Neeson'?"

Recollection slowly dawned on Vera as she levied her purse back onto her shoulder, having found her house key.

"Yes," she answered directly, "Maggie and Lenore: Maggie is the, ah, _caretaker_ of the house when we're not here. Lenore is her daughter, who helps her mother tidy up the rooms and does the dishes- things like that."

"Is that all?"

"No, but they're the only ones you'll bother needing to know. I didn't think that any of this would bother you, Victor."

Victor gave a deep sigh and nodded for Vera to open the door.

"Thank you," she said derisively, turning the key in the lock. She listened as the familiar sound of the tumblers fell into place, unlocking the door.

Vera escorted Victor inside the waiting room, resting her purse on the armoire top and pulling off her lightweight sweater, hanging the light blue fabric on an awaiting gilded hook inside the armoire as Victor continued their conversation.

"I'm just saying that you should've prepared me for all of this," he said, motioning around at the manor, "You told me that you lived in Wiltshire, not that you practically owned it."

Vera sighed, saying, "I didn't think about it, Victor; I'm sorry."

They walked down the hall together until they reached the den at the end of hallway. Stepping through the archway, they entered the family room, coming upon a gray-haired elderly woman who was resting lightly in a petite blue armchair, setting out a tray of tea.

As they stepped even further into the room, the woman finally took notice of the entering guests and stood in friendly stature to greet them.

Smiling and moving to hug her, the woman said, "So nice to see you again, Vera!"

"It's lovely to see you, too, Maggie. This is Victor," Vera said, initiating the introductions, "Victor, this is Maggie. "

Maggie extended her hand and in her warm, marginally Irish accent said, "It's nice to meet you, Victor."

"Maggie is the person that keeps the house standing when we're gone," Vera reminded him.

"Not just the house, nowadays," Maggie interjected, "I've been keeping George standing lately, too. He's been here for the past year, now, and he still acts like he's a child. It feels like I'm raising him all over again."

A female voice from the other side of the room said, "Well, what else would you expect from him?"

Everyone turned their heads to the voice as Maggie said, "Oh, Marie, I didn't hear you come in. Vera's only just arrived with her . . guest- Victor."

Marie was slender and average height, like Vera, but that was where the resemblance ended. Unlike Vera, Marie had dark, auburn-colored hair that cascaded in a half-wave to her shoulder blades and features so sharp that you could cut yourself on them. Her eyes were near almond-shaped and deep brown. Her brow sat low on her forehead and had a high arch three-fourths near its end. Her maroon-colored business dress nicely complemented the warm tones of her skin.

Marie made her way across the rest of the room and, like Maggie, extended her hand and said warmly to Victor, "I'm Marie- Vera's older sister," before hugging Vera and sitting in the chair next to Maggie's. Vera and Victor sat on the navy leather couch adjacent to the armchairs that Maggie and Marie were currently inhabiting. Maggie poured each of them a cup of rosemary tea, handing the china out with delicacy.

"So," Marie said, stirring the sugar in her teacup, "how was your ride over?"

Vera set her cup on the table with a _clink_ and said, "Our trip was long, and small talk, Marie, is not your forte, so why don't you start off with why you really wanted me home."

Marie squinted her eyes at her little sister from across the table, she, too, setting down her teacup. She clasped her hands together and smartly set them on her lap.

"Alright, then, Vera," she said, "You obviously got our letter, hence your sitting there. You know why we asked you here."

"Yes," Vera said with suspicion, "I know why you _asked_ me here; I don't know why I'm really here, though."

There was silence as the sisters stared, near maliciously, at each other from across the table.

Standing up, Maggie said, "Victor, would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

In an attempt to not seem too eager, Victor replied, "Yes, of course," before standing to hasten into the kitchen with Maggie.

Victor sat down at the breakfast table, upon Maggie's request, and listened to her ramblings, which, in Victor's opinion, was much better than sitting in on a sore yelling match between Vera and her sister. From what he could tell, Marie was everything like Vera. He was already slightly frightened of Vera; he didn't want to be in between them, especially when they were about to clash. He felt extremely sorry for that coffee table if things went sour.

"They've always been this way," he heard Maggie say, "Even before Christine died, Marie and Vera never got along. I assume Vera told you about Christine?"

"Yes," he said, sipping his tea that he managed to save, "she has."

"They were the best of friends growing up. Vera was her happiest when she was around Christine."

"What was Vera like growing up?" Victor asked suddenly.

"Oh, Vera was the sweetest thing," Maggie answered with a nostalgic smile, "Always liked to read."

"Still does," Victor said, thinking back to their train ride. In fact, he hadn't noticed before, but when she wasn't working, Vera always had a book with her.

"That would be my doing," Maggie sighed happily, "I always read to her when she was a child. She liked hearing Sir Arthur Conan's Sherlock Holmes stories and anything by the Austen sisters."

"Suits her," he commented.

Maggie laughed, "Doesn't it?"

Maggie finished her bustling about the kitchen and sat down across the table from Victor, sipping her tea, lost in thought, presumably thoughts from when Vera and her siblings were young.

Though he didn't want to disturb her pleasant thoughts, Victor's curiosity outweighed his manners at the moment, "Mrs. Maggie," he began.

"Just Maggie," she corrected him, snapping out of her reverie.

"Maggie, I keep hearing about Christine- "he began again before she interrupted him again.

"Yes, Christine's death was unexpected, which made it all the worse," Maggie said sadly, perking up as she said, "There's a picture of her right over there."

Victor followed her pointing finger to photographs that were hanging behind him in a collage. He could recognize the faces of Vera and Marie, which was obviously at a happier time, as they both wore satisfied grins in what seemed to be Paris. Behind them was a tall, brawny man with auburn hair and high cheek bones, who must be George. In between Vera and Marie sat a woman with taupe, shoulder-length hair with sweet pale brown eyes and skin as light as Vera's.

"She looks more like Vera than Marie," he noted.

"Yes," Maggie agreed.

"How did she die?" he finally asked.

"Car crash in London a year ago," Maggie said sadly, "Killed her husband, as well."

"She was married?"

"Oh yes," she said, pointing to another picture in the collage.

He looked at the picture beneath the one that he had just been looking at. It was a picture of a thin-faced, brunette man who was happily smiling at the camera as Christine sat in front of him, smiling satisfactorily, a baby that greatly resembled her sitting on her lap.

Victor looked back at Maggie, "She had a baby?"

Marie glared across the table at her little sister that she hadn't seen in a year.

"So why _am_ I here?" Vera asked.

"Why do you assume that we have ulterior motives?" Marie jeered, "Can't we just be worried about your well-being?"

"No," Vera said bluntly. She could feel a headache rising from this conversation already.

"Hmph," Marie pouted, bringing her hands to cradle her head, elbows on her knees, "That's not true, you know? We do worry about you."

"But that's not the reason you want me here." Vera stated definitely.

Marie sighed, admitting, "No, it's not."

Vera nodded, satisfied that she had been correct.

"You have a guess as to why, though, don't you?"

"Naturally," Vera said, "and the answer is no. We talked about this before I left, and I don't see my answer changing any time in the near future."

"I'm not going to be staying in Wiltshire for much longer, nor is George," Marie said, "We have out-of-country work, Vera."

"Work?" she asked, genuinely surprised, "What kind of work does a retired, _renowned_ antiquities dealer that doesn't like to travel have out of country?"

"Important work," she answered grittily.

"You mean illegal?" Vera said with a laugh.

"I mean," Marie said, "work that isn't suitable for a seven year old girl to be mixed up with."

"My answer's still the same."

"You were closer to Christine than I ever was," Marie said, moving to sit by Vera on the couch, the moment slowly turning tender, "You know how she wanted to raise Celia."

"No," Vera said with strained emotion, "I can't. More importantly, I won't."

"I know that you have unresolved issues," Marie said quietly, "You were both six when you lost your parents . . ."

"That isn't the issue here," Vera said loudly, standing up.

"Alright," Marie said gently, pulling her back down to the couch, "alright."

They sat down together on the couch, Vera's hand in Marie's.

"If I do this," Vera said, looking Marie in the eye, "it's only temporary."

Marie sighed a deep breath of relief, "Thank you, Vera."

"But," Vera interjected, "there's one condition."

"Yes," Marie smiled, standing from the couch, "anything."

"Be careful- on your job," Vera said softly, "and come back alive."

Marie, for the first time in the longest time, tenderly smile at her little sister that she hadn't seen in a year.

A/N:

Repetition intentional. :)

I apologize for depicting stereotypical Britain, guys.

Actually, no; I'm not even sorry. The Brits had a freaking colossal-sized Voldemort and badass army of flying Mary Poppins at their Olympics Opening Ceremony. I figure that if they can stereotype themselves, so can I!

So, just a life update, I got a new laptop for school- an HP Pavilion dv6. It's great and shiny and neat, but transferring files has been a bitch, so imagine how happily surprised I was when I discovered that my near finished (eh, halfway) second chapter had gotten lost in this marinade of chaos and excitement. I WAS FREAKING OVERJOYED, LET ME TELL YOU. This is one of the reasons I kind of put this chapter to the side, but my other one was because Emilie Autumn's new album Fight Like A Girl came out on the twenty-fifth, and I am in _love_ with it! Seriously, stop what you're doing now, go search the album on YouTube, and be prepared to be sent on an emotional rollercoaster, my online friends. Good God, that woman is a genius. If you like marvelous Broadway music and satirical Victorian feminism, this album is for you! If not, I recommend 'Goodnight, Sweet Ladies' and 'One Foot In Front Of The Other', anyways. The first makes me cry, and the latter encourages me to get shit done- like this chapter! I hope you enjoyed. :)

As always, stay lovely.

~TheWinterCountess


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